For Better, For Worse
by Silver Bee
Summary: Nothing ever runs smoothly for the members of International Rescue and Penny's wedding day is no exception.
1. Chapter 1

_This one follows on from 'Broken'. It's not all angst and misery, despite the tone of this opening chapter. There'll be lots of lighter moments and plenty of action for the Tracys once the story proper gets going, but without this introduction not a lot would make sense as far as Penny's concerned. I really hope it works - bit nervous about this one..._

Chapter One

"Just a little more..." the designer murmured, pulling the corset of Lady Penelope's dress even tighter. Ignoring her involuntary gasp for breath, he dropped to his knees and began fussing with the hem. "There."

He rose to his feet and took a step back, surveying Penny critically before reaching out to make a few minute adjustments.

"C'est magnifique!" he proclaimed, finally satisfied. "Pierre, if you please..."

His assistant pulled away the cloth which covered the only mirror in the room and for the first time Penny could see herself. This time the gasp was one of amazement. She knew she was a beautiful woman, but this... this was beyond anything she'd imagined, and the look wasn't even finished. Hair, make-up, jewellery, all these were still to be added and they could only enhance the overall effect.

She became aware that everyone in the room was staring at her, waiting for some response, but for once in her life she had no words. The designer allowed himself a smile of satisfaction.

"Simply perfect," he declared. "Lord Simon will be overwhelmed when he sees his beautiful bride."

"Yes," Penny said. "Yes, he will. Dear Simon..."

But as she gazed at her reflection, she couldn't help thinking about another dress - much simpler, if far less refined than the one she was wearing now - and another, very different wedding ceremony in Las Vegas, just eighteen months earlier...

"Lady Penelope?"

"I'm sorry?" Penny blinked at the designer. "Did you say something, Marcel?"

"I was asking if you were alright. You looked so sad for a moment."

"Oh, oh yes. Yes, I'm perfectly alright. Thank you."

"Are you sure?" The man didn't look convinced. "Is it the dress? You're not still thinking about that ivory silk?"

"No! Of course not. The dress is perfect, Marcel. A masterpiece. I couldn't have asked for anything finer. I'm alright, really. I was just thinking about a dear friend of mine who died last year. She would have been one of my bridesmaids..."

As a reassured Marcel moved away, realising that she'd appreciate a moment alone, Penny turned back to the mirror. It wasn't exactly a lie; she had been thinking about Tin-Tin Kyrano a lot lately, and not just in relation to the wedding. If the girl hadn't died things might have worked out very differently...

_Stop that, Penelope!_ she commanded herself. _You know that's all in the past. _

As Marcel hung up the dress, having called in two of his assistants to help him gather up the five metre-long train, Penny took one last look at it. It certainly was beautiful, she thought. The perfect dress for what was sure to be the society wedding of the year, if not the decade. Lord Warrington-Farr was the perfect match for her, and she _did_ love him, she really did.

Just not in the same way that she had loved Scott Tracy.

Unable to help herself, her mind drifted back to that turbulent time on Tracy Island just after Tin-Tin had died. Once she'd got away from the place, she'd fully intended to break it off with Simon. After all, she'd spent a night with Scott and it wasn't fair on the other man to be second-best, but it had been impossible to find the right words and anyway, she hadn't felt right doing it over the phone. As hard as it would have been doing it face to face, it was the least he deserved, and she'd fully planned on doing so as soon as her next mission for MI5 was over.

But it had all gone horribly wrong. Maybe Scott and the others had been right when they'd advised her against taking the job, especially when she clearly wasn't her usual cool, capable self. But she'd insisted, welcoming the opportunity to focus on something other than the tragedy of Tin-Tin and her own disastrous love life. It had worked, too - right up to the moment she and the other agents had been betrayed. The two men who had been working with her - good friends as well as colleagues - had died instantly when their car had been forced over a cliff. Only Penny had survived, though she'd been badly hurt.

It had been a horrendous time. As if Tin-Tin's death hadn't been bad enough, she'd now lost two more people she cared about. Plus, she'd been alone in Switzerland, far away from her friends and family. She hadn't even had Parker - he'd been occupied elsewhere at the time and, although he'd begged to be allowed to return to her, distraught that he hadn't been there to drive the car, clearly believing that if he'd been at the wheel the tragedy could have been averted, she'd refused, insisting that the mission came first. And so she'd lain in her hospital bed, enduring the worst pain - both physical and emotional - that she'd ever experienced.

The Tracys - all of them - had sent messages, but International Rescue was tied up in a major rescue following an earthquake and no one could be spared to visit her. She'd held her breath before taking Scott's call, knowing that if he didn't express any feelings for her now, when she was in such a state, then she'd have to accept that those feelings simply weren't there. He hadn't. He'd been deeply concerned, slightly embarrassed, too, given their recent history, but he hadn't been prompted to tell her he loved her or that he couldn't stop thinking about her and the night they'd spent together. He hadn't told her that he'd been wrong to let her go... Too proud to admit her own feelings, she'd finally accepted that there was no hope.

Another twenty-four hours of loneliness and misery had followed, then, to her surprise, she'd awoken from a restless sleep to find the room full of flowers and Simon sitting beside her. She'd never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

It had taken her a while to recover. Simon had taken her away to his villa in the south of France and she'd welcomed the complete break from MI5 and International Rescue. She'd felt guilty that Simon knew nothing about these aspects of her life - as far as he was aware, the crash had simply been an accident, the other men in the car just fellow travellers - but, having lied to him for so long, she simply couldn't find a way to reveal the truth.

When he'd proposed it had taken her completely by surprise. She hadn't known what to say. She didn't have the passion for him that she had for Scott, though she'd grown to care deeply about him during the time they'd spent together. But she wasn't sure that was enough. Not when there were so many things he didn't know about her. She knew that she had to tell him about her work for the British secret service. Not IR, of course, that secret could never be revealed without the consent of Jeff Tracy. But as soon as she'd started to speak, Simon had hushed her and told her he already knew.

She'd stared at him in disbelief. How could he know? Then she realised that he _didn't_ know - not about her work as a secret agent, anyway. Instead, he'd guessed that there had been someone else, someone she still cared about. It didn't matter to him, he'd told her, he loved her no matter what, but he wanted her to be happy. He'd let her go - if that was what she wanted.

Consumed with guilt that she couldn't be the woman he deserved, she'd told him it was.

She'd returned to England the very next day, cutting all her ties with Simon, hating herself for having made him feel as miserable as she herself had felt whenever she'd thought about Scott. Somewhat to her surprise, she'd found herself missing him. She knew she'd done the right thing in breaking off the relationship, but there were times when she couldn't help wondering what might have been.

Then Jeff and John Tracy had visited, on their way back from some Tracy Industries' business in London. Jeff knew nothing about her brief affair with Scott and he'd talked cheerfully about his eldest, oblivious to Penny's discomfort and John's barely-concealed embarrassment. Scott had rekindled a romance with an ex-girlfriend, he'd told her. Jeff had always liked the girl and he had high hopes that this time Scott would make it work. Penny had said all the right things, but that night, when her guests were safely asleep in their rooms, she'd sat in her library for a long, long time, thinking about Scott - and about Simon. She felt so tired, still not quite recovered from her injuries and surprisingly reluctant to get involved in any more missions. Her nerve had gone, she thought, as much as she tried to deny the fact. Things had changed, and perhaps she needed to change too. Yes, she loved Scott, but he clearly didn't want her and, more than that, he didn't _need _her. Not like Simon did. Only the other day, she'd heard from a mutual friend that the man had been uncharacteristically withdrawn ever since his return from France.

A week later at a charity ball she'd run into him again. A man less like Scott Tracy it was hard to imagine. Slightly-built, with thinning blond hair and round glasses which magnified his pale grey eyes, he wasn't the kind of man to make a woman's head turn. But he was honest and kind - and he still loved her. When he'd hesitantly invited her to dinner the following evening she'd agreed. Dinner had been followed by afternoon tea at the Ritz, then a day at the races... They were soon seeing each other every day. Things had never been so good between them and for the first time in a long while she'd been genuinely happy. Simon had seen the difference in her and a few weeks later he'd proposed again. This time she'd accepted, driven by a sudden overwhelming urge to sustain this feeling of contentment, to be loved and wanted and needed.

There was still the odd moment when she wondered whether or not she'd done the right thing. But, there had been no sudden declaration of love on the part of Scott - any fantasies she'd had of him flying over in Thunderbird One to demand that she leave Simon and marry him had failed to come true - and she'd finally given up. It wasn't meant to be. Besides, Simon was a good man and she knew he would spend his life trying to make her happy. That she'd make him happy in return was never in doubt - the sheer joy in his eyes whenever he looked at her confirmed that she'd made the right decision - and anyway, Creighton-Wards were brought up to honour their promises. She might still have the occasional wistful thought of what might have been with Scott, but she'd never go back on the commitment she'd made to Simon.

And so preparations for the wedding continued - many of which Penny would be completely unaware of until it was far too late.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to everyone who responded to chapter one - it means a lot. Whirlgirl, thank you (and there's lots of mystery in this one!)._

Chapter Two

"I'm still surprised you didn't want to go to Penny's wedding," Jeff Tracy said, trying and failing to make himself comfortable in the jump seat of Thunderbird One. The craft wasn't really built with passengers in mind - even the pilot's seat lacked any real comfort, Scott too concerned with speed to want to slow his 'bird down with any unnecessary weight, even the negligible mass offered by a well-padded cushion.

Scott had long been subjected to comments about his relationship with Penny from his brothers and by now he'd perfected an expression of absolute neutrality whenever the woman's name was mentioned. "Well," he said, checking his instruments and making the tiniest change in course, "She's a good friend, of course, but we can't all go, can we? Virg has to be there to play the piano and you're one of the guests of honour. If I was there as well it would put too much strain on John and Gordon if a call came in."

"I guess you're right," Jeff said. "But you could have gone in my place."

"Penny wouldn't have heard of it," Scott said. It was true, after all. The relationship the woman had with the Tracy brothers might have changed considerably over the past year, but she still thought the world of his father. He knew full well that although Penny had invited every single one of the family, plus Brains and Kyrano, she'd clearly hoped that not everyone would want to attend. It was no surprise that Alan, still grieving for Tin-Tin, had refused, insisting that he'd rather do his stint up on Thunderbird Five, or that Kyrano and Brains had preferred the isolation of Tracy Island, neither man comfortable at lavish social occasions. Virgil had agreed to perform at the ceremony - the middle brother had needed some persuasion, but Scott had managed it, in the end simply begging his brother to save him from the embarrassment of meeting Simon Warrington-Farr and pretending that he hadn't slept with his new bride - and so, with the others needed to man International Rescue, it was down to Jeff to represent the family. Jeff had been a little surprised that his mother hadn't wanted to attend but the woman had insisted she'd rather be on hand to provide comfort to Alan should he need it - weddings were a delicate subject for the youngest brother, his failure to commit to Tin-Tin still playing on his mind almost a year after her death.

What Jeff didn't know, of course, was that his mother wasn't exactly enamoured of Lady Penelope at the moment. How any woman could prefer another man over one of her grandsons was beyond her. She'd been appalled to learn of Scott's involvement with the aristocrat - a drunken one-night stand, of all things! - but she'd had to admit she'd rather liked the idea of the pair of them getting together. But, as much as she'd tried to get her grandson to do something about it, Scott had remained stubbornly insistent that the whole thing had been a mistake and that Penny clearly didn't want to be reminded about it, not when she'd agreed to marry Simon.

As memories of that night flashed through his head, Scott quickly turned back to the controls in the hope that his father wouldn't notice the flush he could feel spreading over his face. He hadn't taken in all that much at the time - he'd been incredibly drunk, after all - but as time had gone by he'd begun to build up a picture of what had happened that night - or at least, what he thought had happened. The trouble was that he couldn't really trust his blurred memories, and he could hardly ask Penny for clarification. If only he could! One thing really did bother him, and he wished he could know the truth. He'd initially assumed he'd been the instigator. He'd been so drunk and desperate that night, utterly exhausted and grieving for the dead girl who had been like a sister to him, blaming himself as Field Commander for not bringing all his team safely home. But now he couldn't help wondering if things had actually been a little different. He seemed to remember Penny being the one to insist that they took things further. In some ways that made him feel better. Not that he thought Penny could ever be pressured into anything, but he'd been worried that he might have taken advantage of their close friendship and the woman's own grief. But, as comforting as the thought was, it had also led to a certain amount of confusion - and Scott Tracy didn't like feeling confused about anything.

One thing he _was _certain about was that his father would have been none too impressed to find out what had happened. Better he believed that Scott had reluctantly given up the chance to attend a close friend's wedding for the good of International Rescue, than that he knew the truth.

Actually, Scott wasn't sorry to be missing the ceremony. The wedding was going to be quite spectacular, certainly not the kind of event he was comfortable in attending. Virgil, in between bouts of panic, had been full of excitement at the prospect of playing in Westminster Abbey in front of the cream of British society - but Scott had happily joined with Gordon in laughing at the outfits his brother and father were expected to wear. Top hat and tails really weren't Scott Tracy's style - or his father and brother's, if he was honest.

Virgil had been in London for the past few days, practising with the string quartet who would join him in entertaining the guests before the ceremony and whilst Penny and Simon signed the register. He'd kept in regular touch with Scott and it seemed rehearsals were going well. Of course, the fact that the quartet consisted of four very pretty girls had been much appreciated by the middle Tracy, especially since all of them had decided to take pity on the lone American, making a point of ensuring that he was never at a loss for company. Virgil, it seemed, was having a wonderful time.

Sometimes Scott regretted not practising harder at the piano...

"Come on, then!"

His father's voice broke into his reverie and he started.

"Huh?"

"My turn."

Scott stared at his father, keeping his hands firmly on One's yoke.

"You want to fly my 'bird?"

Jeff's glare was spoilt slightly by the way his eyes twinkled, but his voice was firm as he once again demanded to take over the pilot's seat.

"Who paid for this machine?" he asked. "You never used to mind sharing your toys, Scott."

"Thunderbird One's not a _toy_." Scott was genuinely scandalised.

"She wasn't cheap, either," Jeff said. "Come on, son, move."

Only half-pretending to sulk, Scott slowed the speed of the craft down to something he thought his father would find more manageable, then engaged the auto-pilot to allow them to swap seats.

"This is more like it," Jeff announced, settling himself in. A few experimental swoops later - he had to laugh at Scott's slightly traumatised expression - and he was fully in control.

"Comfortable?" he asked, smiling at Scott's unconvincing reply - after all, when would any of his sons admit to the slightest flaw in their beloved Thunderbirds? - then accelerating rapidly until the craft had reached a speed beyond the capability of any other aircraft in existence. He rarely got the chance to enjoy a session at the helm of any of the 'birds, and he had to admit that this was his favourite. He was Air Force through and through, and, as much as he relished the rare journeys he took in Thunderbird Three, the challenge of flying One thrilled him more than anything.

"Had enough?" Scott asked, some five minutes later.

"Not a chance," Jeff told his son. "I'll take her up to the new base, you can land her."

The new base was a remote island in the middle of the Atlantic, originally intended to house a second set of Thunderbirds and a new crew. But after Tin-Tin's death, the plans had been set aside, no one having the heart to take on the training of new personnel, or to risk sending others to their deaths in the course of a rescue. However, it had been decided that an Atlantic base where the 'birds could lay up when they were on call in that part of the world would be useful, and so a hangar had been created in which One and Two could be housed, along with all the equipment needed to service the craft. There were also basic living quarters, nowhere near as sumptuous as the villa on Tracy Island, but more than adequate for the short periods of time anyone would be stationed there.

Scott wouldn't be spending any time there on this occasion, simply dropping his father off so that the man could fly to London in the jet the family kept there for use on occasions when they were travelling as Tracys rather than International Rescue operatives. Not that the 'birds were often used for commuting, but Jeff had been tied up in business meetings up till now, so had insisted on the lift in One rather than taking a more traditional means of transport.

Watching as the smile on his father's face grew ever larger, Scott couldn't help wondering if his father had just been looking for an excuse for a joy-ride.

"We should-" Jeff broke off as the craft suddenly lurched sideways, struggling to regain control and keep the 'bird stable.

"What did you do?" Scott ignored all safety protocol, snapping his safety belt open and hurrying to his father's side.

"Nothing!" Jeff snapped, the strain of keeping One in the air bad enough, without having his piloting skills questioned. "There's some kind of mechanical fault."

"She was in perfect working order when we left," Scott told him. "Let me back at the helm, Dad."

Jeff wanted to argue, but commander won out over father and he reluctantly ceded control to the more experienced pilot. There were a couple of tense moments as they waited to see how the 'bird would respond, but all seemed well, and, with no further problems, they began to relax. Scott couldn't help thinking he should have kept a closer eye on his father. Thunderbird One was no place for amateurs, even if she wouldn't have existed without them. His father must have done something wrong - unless his 'bird had just been sulking because he wasn't the one flying her.

With this irrational, but comforting thought, Scott was about to make some cheeky comment about his father's piloting skills, when it happened again. This time, a loud _clunk _accompanied the dramatic lurch to the right, and Scott suddenly had a real fight on his hands to keep his 'bird in the air.

"Told you it was nothing to do with me," Jeff muttered through gritted teeth as he reached for the radio.

Scott said nothing, instead slowing his 'bird down to a more sedate five hundred miles an hour and checking the distance to the new base. Twelve minutes, he thought. Surely One would behave herself for that length of time. She seemed stable enough at the lower speed, but, with none of the instruments indicating any problem, it was a mystery as to what was going on. He wanted to be on the ground just as soon as he could, and for the first time ever, he found himself feeling relieved that his father had ignored his objections and gone ahead with the new island base. Scott didn't exactly have fond memories of the time he'd spent there and he'd had no wish to revisit the place. But right now, there was nowhere on Earth he'd rather be.

John and Alan kept in close contact throughout the rest of the flight, and it was clear they were worried as Scott brought One in for landing. Jeff held his breath as his son slowed the craft right down, then began his descent. He had to admire Scott's skill in handling the machine as they settled gently on the ground with no further mishap.

Scott was out of the hatch and on the ground almost before Jeff had unclasped his safety belt. Climbing down the ladder, he looked for his son, finally spotting him crouched down and gazing up at the underside of one of the Thunderbird's thrusters.

"What's the problem?" he asked, making his way over.

"Looks like a bolt came loose and punched a hole in the fuselage," Scott said, the irritation in his voice clear. Things like this shouldn't happen, not given the strict inspection and maintenance all the 'birds underwent. "Did a bit of damage to the propulsion unit by the look of it."

Jeff said nothing, but it was clear he wasn't happy.

"I can fix it," Scott said. "There's everything I need in the hangar. But it'll take a while, especially if I'm single-handed. I won't be heading home tonight."

"I'd stay if I could," his father told him. "But I promised Penny I'd be at her party this evening and the wedding's tomorrow..."

"Don't worry, Dad. You go and have a good time."

"Maybe Virgil could fly back and give you a hand. He could get back in time for the ceremony."

Scott considered this for a moment. The repairs would certainly be completed more efficiently if his engineer brother was involved, but then Virgil was having the time of his life right now and, although he'd dutifully come traipsing over to the new base if he had to, Scott knew his brother had been in desperate need of this break. He couldn't take that away from him. And anyway, all it would take was one mistimed connection of hammer and finger and Penny would be looking for a new pianist. No, he'd fend for himself on this miserable piece of rock. Now that he was safely on the ground all his old antagonism for the place had returned. Did it ever stop raining here? he wondered.

"I'll sort it, Dad," he said. "If a call comes through, Johnny and Gords will have to handle it. I can co-ordinate from here if need be. It'll be fine."

"Well, if you're sure. Any problems, have Gordon fly Brains over in Two. And keep me informed."

"I'll do that. Got the presents?"

Jeff disappeared back into One, returning a few minutes later with a suitcase and a couple of large packages. "All set. Take care, son."

"You too. See you in a few days."

Scott watched as his father's jet disappeared into the distance, then turned back to One. "Right then, you," he said, patting her helm affectionately. "Let's get you fixed up. Then I'm checking every last inch of you - who knows what other damage my father has done?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for the response to the last chapter. It means a lot, especially since this week has been a difficult one. My cat had to be put to sleep on Tuesday so it's been a miserable time. I used to complain when he disturbed me as I was writing - how did he always know when I was concentrating really hard in order to work out a tricky part of a story? - but I'm really going to miss those interruptions._

Chapter Three

Jeff didn't get a chance to catch up with Virgil until later that evening. His son had been tied up in rehearsals at the Abbey and, although they were apparently going well, he had sent a message to say he was running late and would meet him at the party Penny was hosting that night, her last as a single woman.

Jeff was torn between pride and amusement when he spotted Virgil. Scott hadn't been wrong when he'd said that his brother had his hands full with the girls in the string quartet. All four had accompanied him to the party and they all seemed to be competing for his attention. It took the young man several minutes to disentangle himself and make his way across to his father.

"It's a hard life, being a musician," Jeff observed.

"Sure is," Virgil agreed, accepting a drink from a passing waiter and sinking down in a chair next to his father with apparent relief. "I'm exhausted."

Jeff decided he didn't want to know. "Did you get everything set up?"

Virgil knew that his father was referring to the tiny IR-issue cameras he'd hidden in strategic places around the Abbey in order to allow his grandmother to witness both the wedding and his performance at the piano.

"All done," he said. "Alan checked, everything's working."

"Good." Jeff glanced around, then, when it appeared no one was paying them any attention, leaned in closer to Virgil and whispered,

"Any luck with Penny?"

Virgil looked a little uncomfortable as he informed his father that no, he hadn't been able to make the woman change her mind about severing her ties with International Rescue. Fortunately for him, Jeff seemed to take his discomfort as a response to his failure to persuade Penny to stay on as an agent, rather than suspecting there might be any other reason. Virgil certainly didn't want to get into any discussion as to what those other reasons might be - not with his father, at least. Truth be told, his attempts to talk to Penny on the matter had been awkward to say the least, and he'd accepted her polite but emphatic refusal without too much protest. Penny had insisted that Simon deserved a wife who had no secrets from him - at least, no new ones - and she intended to throw herself into her role as Lady Warrington-Farr with complete commitment.

Virgil couldn't argue with that, and he had been relieved when Simon himself had come over to greet him and the conversation had moved on to other matters. He couldn't help liking the man, though a greater contrast to the elder brother he idolised couldn't be imagined. Still, Penny must know what she was doing, he thought. He had too much respect for the woman to believe that she would marry a man she didn't care about. Scott, whatever her feelings were for him - and the observant artist hadn't failed to notice the faint blush on Penny's cheeks when he mentioned his brother's name - was clearly out of the picture. Maybe it was all for the best, Virgil thought. He liked Penny and, if nothing else, International Rescue would be losing their best agent, but then he couldn't help wondering if things would ever have worked out. He couldn't see Scott in the role of lord of the manor, and the prospect of Penny taking up permanent residence on Tracy Island was laughable. The woman hated the sun, abhorred the very idea of tan lines, and there was no way she'd be able to endure the company of Gordon and Alan on a permanent basis - she usually began to wear an expression of weariness after just a few days in their presence.

"She's adamant," he told his father, and Jeff nodded resignedly and called for another scotch.

Jeff enjoyed himself that evening. It was a long time since he'd had the chance to unwind like this. Usually when he ventured off the island it was for business, and although he regularly attended functions and parties, he was always on duty, the much-respected head of a multi-national company, revered as much for his heroic past as his phenomenal wealth. But tonight, he was by no means the most important person in the room - or even the richest. Various members of the aristocracy - including royalty - cabinet ministers, wealthy businesspeople, even the usually reclusive head of MI5, mingled in the ballroom of the Ritz, Penny greeting every one of them as old friends.

Virgil sighed as the girls he'd arrived with decided he'd spent long enough in the sole company of his father and headed in his direction. Jeff was somewhat confused as to why his son wasn't a little more enthusiastic - heaven knew he spent long enough complaining about the lack of female company on Tracy Island - but ten minutes in the company of the girls was more than enough to explain why. The three sisters were the most annoying, Fay, Flora and Frances doing their best to outdo each other in their bid to win his son's affections, though Jeff could have told them that such a blatant display of desperation was never going to be the way to do it. He preferred the company of their cousin Isabel, a little older but a lot more restrained in her behaviour. It was clear that she had as much interest in his son as the others, although she seemed to have resigned herself to the fact that she wasn't going to get anywhere, at least not while the other three were around.

Desultory conversations about the delights of life on a tropical island, the Tracys' friendship with Lady Penelope, the perfection of the soon-to-be happy couple and, of course, the pieces they were due to play at the ceremony, followed. Virgil did his best to hide his growing nervousness, but Jeff wasn't fooled, noting the increasing tension in his posture and the way his fingers had started to tap aimlessly on the arm of his chair. He'd never been able to understand his son's habit of panicking before a performance. He'd always been a 'get-a-grip-and-get-on-with-it' type of man, whether he was about to launch in a rocket to the moon or preparing to sign a billion-dollar contract. Nerves were a luxury he'd never allowed himself, and Virgil's terror amused and irritated him in equal measure.

He'd been dreading the hours leading up to the wedding, knowing that in all probability he'd be spending them coaxing his son out of his room and into the taxi which was booked to take them to the Abbey. Now, however, a thought struck him, and it was a simple matter to chase after the next girl who left their table and seek her help. Isabel had been delighted to be singled out by the father of the man she'd taken such a shine to and promised that she would call for Virgil early the next morning, get him to the Abbey and do whatever it took to distract him from any thought of the performance until the time arrived. A job well done, Jeff thought, though he couldn't help wondering if Virgil would thank him for it - the poor boy was worn-out by the end of the evening, so ferocious were the girls in their efforts to impress him. Still, it got Jeff off the hook, and for that he was more than thankful.

* * *

Sure enough all Jeff had to do was get Virgil up and dressed the next morning, although that in itself was by no means an easy task. All four girls then turned up - Isabel looking none too happy about her cousins' presence - and dragged him away. Virgil looked even more terrified at this than he had at the prospect of performing, but he was too overwhelmed to put up any kind of protest. Jeff waved him goodbye, then enjoyed a few more leisurely cups of coffee, put in a call to the island - Thunderbird Two was on standby following news of a bush fire in Australia which had the potential to get out of control - then another to Scott, who reported that the damage to One had been more extensive than he'd realised, and so he'd be going nowhere until Brains arrived with some spare parts. Jeff suggested the man fly over in one of the family's regular planes, but Scott insisted he'd be happier if Brains remained on the island just in case he was needed to help out on the prospective rescue. Jeff agreed and signed off.

There was just time for one last cup of coffee before he had to put on his top hat and set off for Westminster Abbey, shivering in the cold January air. The rain might have stopped, but it looked as though snow was on the cards and Jeff hoped it would hold off long enough for him to get away. He'd experienced too many cold Kansas winters over the years and these days he preferred the tropical heat of Tracy Island. It wasn't the best time for a wedding, he thought, but then it had all been arranged relatively hastily, since Simon's frail, elderly mother's greatest wish had been to see her son married. Unfortunately, the woman had passed away a month earlier, and although Penny had admitted she would have preferred a spring wedding, preparations were too far advanced for her to be able to change the date. A pity, Jeff thought. He'd have liked more time to try to persuade her to change her mind about giving up her IR activities. Still, give it time, he thought. The combined estates of the Creighton-Wards and the Warrington-Farrs might take a fair amount of attention, but Penny was bound to get bored of a life of domesticity sooner or later. Unless there was a child, of course, but then he couldn't really see Penny on her hands and knees crawling around after an infant. Not the way Lucy had done with their boys...

Thoughts of his own wedding and the woman he'd lost occupied him until he reached the Abbey.

It was no surprise to anyone that the ceremony was one of the most lavish to have been seen in a place which had witnessed numerous momentous occasions over the centuries. No expense had been spared and the Archbishop of Canterbury himself was to preside over the formalities. His mother would have loved this, Jeff thought, and he wondered once again why she hadn't accepted the invitation. She'd be enjoying Virgil's performance right now, he knew, thanks to the various cameras. His son was playing beautifully, with no sign of nerves, accompanied by the string quartet who, thankfully, were completely focused on their own performance with only the occasional longing glance at Virgil and, in Isabel's case, a few stony glares at the others. Jeff couldn't resist announcing to those around him that the pianist was his son, relishing the praise that was heaped upon his boy.

Parker slipped into the seat next to Jeff a few minutes before the ceremony was due to begin, informing him that he'd just chauffeured Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward for the very last time and that he'd miss the old days. It wouldn't be the same when he was driving Lord and Lady Warrington-Farr around. He didn't say any more, but Jeff knew what he was implying. Parker would still do whatever was required by International Rescue - he, at least, had insisted on staying on as part of the organisation - but things would never be the way they had been, and both of them were sorry about it.

Virgil finished his final piece, left the piano and came to sit the other side of his proud father, accepting the congratulations of those around him as he did so. Then the organist took over and Penny glided up the aisle, as much a vision of beauty as everyone had anticipated. Virgil itched to paint her and he hoped his grandmother was getting a good view.

As always on these occasions, there was a degree of tension when the Archbishop asked if anyone had any objections to the marriage. Penny wished he'd get on with it - the silence seemed interminable, especially since it brought vividly to mind the dream she'd had the night before, in which, as they'd got to this part of the ceremony, the doors had been flung open to reveal Scott Tracy, resplendent in full International Rescue uniform. He had declared his undying love for her before striding down the aisle, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her away into Thunderbird One. She'd awoken with a start - and then started to laugh. The idea was ludicrous. If nothing else, that kind of rough treatment would ruin her dress... As she had done just a few hours earlier, she pushed all thoughts of Scott out of her mind as the Archbishop finally got going again, instead focusing on Simon. He was a good man and she was going to do everything she could to make him happy. Her old life was over now. Everything was going to work out just fine.

Everything _was _fine. Vows were exchanged, rings slipped onto fingers and the pair finally pronounced man and wife. Simon kissed Penny to the accompaniment of polite applause from the assembled dignitaries, then Virgil stood up to join the girls in entertaining the congregation whilst the newly-weds completed the legalities.

But he never made it to the piano. A sudden violent hissing, followed by the eruption of smoke from various points all over the Abbey barely registered before Virgil - along with everyone else - collapsed unconscious.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you so much for the response to the last chapter - for the sympathy over poor Jake, as well as the feedback on the story. It's been a chaotic week, with things breaking, falling down and generally not going according to plan, but at least I've got a chapter to post. Whirlgirl, thank you so much. There might be an answer or two in this chapter - or maybe just a few more questions..._

Chapter Four

Far away on Tracy Island, Grandma wiped a tear from her eye as the newly joined husband and wife shared their first kiss. She'd never been convinced that Penelope was doing the right thing in marrying Simon, but even so, a wedding was a wedding and these things always made her emotional. Such a shame things hadn't worked out with Scott, she thought. He'd have cut a far more imposing figure at the altar than Lord Warrington-Farr had.

For a moment she let herself imagine what it would have been like to watch her own grandson marry into the English aristocracy, to greet princes, lords and ladies with smug pride... Not that she was lacking in any pride right now, that was for sure. Virgil had played magnificently and she'd wished for a moment that she'd accepted Penny's invitation so that she could have witnessed his performance in person rather than at second-hand via the hidden cameras. She'd wanted to be at home, though, keen to support Alan at a time that was bound to bring back memories of Tin-Tin and all the things the girl had hoped for but was fated never to experience. It had been something of a surprise when her youngest grandson had insisted on heading up to Thunderbird Five and she'd done her best to talk him out of it, but to no avail. She'd already put in several calls to him that day, just waiting for him to crack, but he'd continued to insist that he was fine, informing her as he set up the transmission from the Abbey that he wasn't even going to watch it, instead planning to occupy himself in some routine maintenance. She didn't have to worry about him, he'd said.

She did worry, of course, but there was nothing she could do, and so she'd settled down to watch the wedding. She'd hoped John and Gordon might keep her company, out of curiosity if nothing else, but the pair, along with Brains, had set off for Australia a couple of hours earlier on a rescue mission which, it seemed, was going to take some time. So she'd watched alone, sipping the sherry Kyrano had brought her - a gift from Penny on her last, fateful visit - and enjoying every moment. The clothes, those hats...

When Virgil got up to play again, she smiled. It had come as no surprise to hear from Jeff that her grandson had picked up a few admirers. He was such a handsome boy. How could any girl resist? So talented, too. She might have listened to all these pieces numerous times over the past few weeks as he'd practised, but to hear the familiar notes resonating around Westminster Abbey of all places... She'd enjoyed telling her friends back in Kansas all about it, thankful that for once she was able to boast about one of her grandsons' achievements instead of having to keep everything a secret. Membership of International Rescue could be as much of a burden as it was an honour at times.

When Virgil crumpled to the floor she blinked in confusion for a moment, unable to take in what she was seeing. Then, at the realisation that something terrible was happening, not just to Virgil , but to Jeff - to _everyone_ - she called for Kyrano, pulling herself to her feet as swiftly as she could and stumbling towards the desk where she stabbed at the controls for the vid-link with shaking hands. She was thinking clearly enough not to distract John, Gordon and Brains from their rescue, but there were others who needed to know without delay.

"Alan? Scott? Boys, talk to me."

"Grandma? What's wrong?"

"Are you okay?"

Alan and Scott's portraits flickered into life and she found herself looking into the puzzled faces of her two grandsons.

"The wedding... Virgil... I don't know what's happening. You have to see."

"What? Did he hit a wrong note?" Alan's irritation at the prospect of watching any part of the ceremony was clear, but Scott at least had registered that something was really wrong. As he rubbed an oily hand across his forehead, just adding to the smears that were already there, he ordered his younger brother to patch the transmission through.

"What's going on?" he asked, his bewilderment clear as he took in the scene. "Grandma?"

"I don't know. Everyone just collapsed."

"Some kind of attack?" Alan asked, his voice tight with worry now that he understood the situation. "Carbon monoxide or something?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Scott snapped. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He also couldn't believe that no one else had realised there was a problem. "Where the hell are the security guys? They can't _all _have been affected, not the ones outside, anyway."

But nothing happened for several seconds. Then all three watchers heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"Parker's waking up." Alan slumped back in his seat, still terrified for his brothers and friends, but confident now that even if they didn't soon join Parker in the land of the living, at least they'd be taken care of.

They continued to watch as Parker stood up and moved along the pew, completely ignoring the slumped figure of Jeff Tracy. In his frustration, Alan muttered something which under any other circumstances would have earned him a dressing-down from Grandma, but the old lady stayed quiet. In fact, she was thinking the same thing, though it was couched in far more ladylike terms. In fairness to Parker, everyone knew that his main concern was always going to be Penny. Expecting him to go straight to her, they were surprised but, it had to be said, relieved, when instead he headed in Virgil's direction. But still he didn't stop, stepping carefully over the prone Tracy - and one of the girls from the string quartet who'd managed to land on top of him when she'd fallen - and moving towards a small door at the side of the altar, disappearing from view.

"What's he up to?" Alan asked.

"Guess he's gone to call security," Scott said. "Keep it together, guys, help will be there any minute."

But all that happened was that music began to resonate through the Abbey's PA system - a recording of the previous afternoon's rehearsal, to be exact, not that any of the listeners registered that fact.

"Oh, thank goodness, someone's there," Grandma said as several figures rushed into the Abbey.

"Yeah, but who?" Scott voiced all their thoughts as they got a proper look at the newcomers, all of whom wore workmen's clothing, gloves - and masks which completely hid their faces.

"I'll call the authorities," Alan said.

"No, wait!" The reappearance of Parker, the man apparently perfectly calm and composed, had Scott completely baffled. What was going on? The chauffeur didn't seem at all concerned that everyone else was unconscious - though why wasn't he, come to think of it? - simply watching impassively as the other men made their way over to a couple of the slumped figures, dragged them upright, slung them over their shoulders and moved back towards the door.

"What's going on?" Grandma asked, her voice shaking as she watched the Archbishop of Canterbury and the third-in-line to the British throne disappear. "Are they there to help? Why take them away? I don't understand."

"Me neither," Alan said. "Why is Parker just standing there? You'd think he'd be looking after Penny."

"It doesn't make any sense." They'd never heard Scott sound more confused. "Al, try to raise him."

"What do you think I've been doing? He's not responding. Hey, he's not wearing his communicator, that's why. It's outside in FAB One."

"I'm not sure they're there to help..." Grandma gripped her walking stick tightly. Jeff and Virgil hadn't stirred, and now another man had been taken away.

Then the men went over to the newlyweds. Penny and Simon were picked up and carried off just as the others had been, Parker finally moving, apparently in order to help carry Penny, only to be pushed away and instructed to get outside and start up the van. Without a word, he did as he was told.

"Scott?" It was inevitable that in any matter involving Lady Penelope, Alan would look to Scott for guidance.

It rarely happened, but right now, the oldest brother and Field Commander was at a total loss as to the best course of action. "I don't know," he admitted. Why hadn't any of the security details outside come in? he once again wondered. Then he realised the significance of the music. Anyone stationed outside would hear it and assume that everything was going according to plan. No one was coming, which meant they were the only people who knew there was a problem. But what were they to do about it?

"I could call it in," Alan said hesitantly. "But, you know, things might not be what they seem. It could be something to do with MI5. Penny might have planned this as part of some mission..."

"On her wedding day? Hardly. She's getting out of that game, anyway, remember?"

"She knew Virgil was filming the wedding," Grandma said. "She'd have warned us if this was planned. Call the police, Alan."

"Scott, what do you think?" Alan's hand hovered over the button which would link him to the authorities in London. "Maybe we should trust Parker. I mean, he's on our side - isn't he?"

It was certainly a dilemma.

"Just hold fire a minute," Scott instructed. "You're right. Parker wouldn't be part of anything bad, and he certainly wouldn't do anything that might hurt Penny. We have to trust him."

The masked men returned. The three watching Tracys silently willed them to stay away from the two helpless members of their family, but their prayers went unanswered and to their horror, it became clear that Jeff Tracy was to be the final target of the unknown men.

_"Scott..."_ Both Alan and Grandma called out to him, but Scott had no comfort for them. What could he do, a thousand miles away? He might be in possession of the one craft in the world that could actually cover that distance in minutes, but right now One was broken and useless.

They didn't have a particularly good view of Jeff given the angle of the camera, so it came a shock when one of the men spoke, his voice muffled by the mask he wore.

"Hang on a minute. He doesn't look too good."

"Bad reaction to the gas," the second man said, joining him for a look. He straightened up and surveyed the rest of the guests. "There's a few of them in the same state by the look of it. What do you want to do? If he's one of the few that really responds badly to it then we're going to have a big problem on our hands."

"Police!" Scott snapped at Alan. Forget trusting Parker - they needed to act fast. If anything happened to his father...

"He was on the list," the first man said. "The Archbishop of Canterbury, Prince Louis, the MI5 guy and the happy couple. The Boss wanted Tracy because of his reputation - famous astronaut, big hero, you know the kind of thing. It's not just about the cash. But I suppose someone else would do. There are plenty of others here who'll bring in a good ransom."

"Suppose so. Which one?"

"Any of that lot." The first man indicated an area of seating a few rows away. "But hurry up - that gas is going to start wearing off in about ninety seconds."

Grandma let out a sigh of relief as the men moved away from her son. Jeff was going nowhere, but even so it wasn't good news, not if this gas had made him sick. But where were the police? They must have heard from Alan by now. Why on earth was it taking so long for help to arrive?

"Al, can you hack into the security cameras outside?" Scott asked as they watched the final victim being carried away, the Abbey eerily still and silent as the music came to an end.

"They're dead," Alan said. "I've got no way of tracking these guys once they're on their way. John would have been able to pick up something from the traffic cameras, but it's going to take me too long to work my way in. Sorry, Scott. If the police don't pick them up they're going to get away."

"Virgil!" Scott was yelling into his watch, desperately trying to rouse his brother. "You need to wake up!"

Virgil moaned and mumbled something unintelligible.

"Don't say anything, just get to Dad!" Scott ordered.

Virgil raised himself up to a sitting position with some difficulty, since Flora decided to choose that moment to open her eyes, snuggling up to him with a satisfied smile as she realised her luck in landing where she had. But Virgil, usually a perfect gentleman, was having none of it, unceremoniously shoving her away and ignoring her indignant protests as he got unsteadily to his feet. As the Abbey doors burst open and the security forces poured in, he managed a couple of stumbling steps in the general direction of his father before his legs gave out and he dropped heavily to the floor again.

"Okay," Scott murmured. "Stay where you are. Call me when you can."

He broke the connection, then could only watch as the authorities finally took control.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for the feedback on the last chapter - as always it's much appreciated. _

_This is a slightly edited version of the chapter I first posted. No major changes, but I found a bit I'd meant to include (lots of random scenes scattered around my laptop for this story - did I mention it was complicated...?) so wanted to add it in._

Chapter Five

The first people to enter the Abbey were a group of stern-faced, soberly dressed men and women, presumably secret service operatives since they ignored the majority of the wedding guests, instead charging up the aisle towards the grandest seats, audibly cursing despite their surroundings when they realised that the worst really had happened and the most important people in the building had been spirited away whilst they had guarded the doors, oblivious to the fact that all the action was taking place inside.

If the rough way they slapped and shook their semi-conscious colleagues was anything to go by, they weren't too impressed by the way they'd allowed themselves to succumb to the gas. But then, the watchers on Tracy Island and up in Thunderbird Five reasoned, who would have expected such an attack in the first place? The Abbey would have been carefully checked out before the distinguished guests would have been allowed to enter, but once they were safely inside, all the focus would have been on the doors. No one would have expected the attack to come from within. They wondered what had happened to the guards who had been at the door the kidnappers had used. More gas? Something more sinister and more permanent? All sorts of ideas were racing around their heads, but without knowing whether or not this was all part of some plan on the part of Penny or whether it actually was something worse - though all their thoughts were inclining to the latter - all they could do was speculate.

Scott couldn't help wondering about the gas. Presumably there had been several canisters hidden around the Abbey, but when? Why hadn't they been detected? And most importantly, who had put them there? One of the security detail? Someone connected with the Abbey? Or someone else apparently above suspicion? Someone like Parker...

Uniformed officers were next on the scene. Alan had informed his brother and grandmother that if it hadn't been for him reporting the incident as International Rescue, using the excuse that his equipment had picked up a radio conversation between two of the kidnappers, the call would have been laughed off as an absurd hoax. Even with the weight of IR behind him, Alan told them, he had found it difficult to get anyone to take him seriously at first.

In fairness, everyone did look slightly stunned as they surveyed the scene. As the victims of the kidnappers were identified, those expressions only grew more astounded - as crimes went, this one was surely going to rival the Great Train Robbery and the sinister escapades of Jack the Ripper in terms of notoriety.

But the Tracys didn't care about any of that right now. They were more concerned about the guests, most of whom had reached varying stages of consciousness and mobility, but quite a few of whom either remained motionless or were clearly suffering the after-effects of whatever had knocked them out. One thing was certain: the Abbey cleaners were going to have a busy time of it. Thankfully the paramedics were finally being allowed in and they waited impatiently to find out what was going on with Jeff.

Virgil, after a few more wobbles, had been one of the first of the reviving guests to get to his feet and stay there, and was now hovering anxiously around his father. It was hard to pick out anything in the general hubbub, so most of their information came from Alan, who was monitoring the increasingly frantic radio transmissions between the various authorities. It seemed that on the whole it was the elderly and the very young who were suffering the worst of the after-effects. Grandma was terribly distressed to watch Penny's two tiny bridesmaids carried swiftly away to waiting ambulances - but a few of the others seemed to be in trouble too, Jeff Tracy apparently among them.

"Dad's lungs aren't as strong as they were - not since he was sick," Alan muttered.

"He'll be okay," Scott reassured him. "Virg is there, he'll make sure Dad gets the treatment he needs. We should be thankful, I guess. Imagine if those guys had taken him away with the others."

"About Penny..." Alan trailed off.

"Yeah." Scott said nothing more, instead asking his brother," Alan, any luck in tracking down Parker?"

"No. FAB One's still there. I guess he really did go off with those other guys."

"What should we do?" Grandma asked. "We have to find him. But Virgil doesn't seem up to chasing around London looking for him."

Indeed, Virgil, whilst in better shape than a lot of the guests, still looked a little shaky. Scott wished his brother would find a quiet corner and get back in touch, but he remained where he was, occasionally sipping from a bottle of water someone had given him. Scott doubted Virgil would have managed any time alone, anyway. His four would-be-girlfriends weren't giving him a moment's peace, undeterred by his obvious reluctance as they offered a comforting hug or leaned in close to whisper something to him.

When Jeff, apparently conscious now, but clearly not well judging by the oxygen mask he wore, was finally taken away, Virgil made to follow him, but a policeman stopped him, directing him back to his seat. His protests were ignored, a more senior officer came over to remonstrate, and eventually the middle brother had no option but to give up and sit back down, but not before looking directly at one of the cameras and giving them a one-shouldered shrug which they all knew meant something along the lines of _could be better, could be worse._ Then Flora, Frances, Fay and Isabel surrounded him, intent on offering comfort in any way they could - and any hope of further communication was lost.

"Well it doesn't look as though there's anything to start panicking about," Alan said, hoping to reassure his grandmother.

"It's one less problem," Scott agreed. "But we've got others."

"Penny-"

"Not just Penny, Al. Or the others. I'm thinking about the authorities. They're going to need to be told about what happened. You're sure there haven't been any transmissions to suggest this was all some kind of set-up?"

"I'd have told you if there were," Alan said, somewhat irritably. "It has to be for real, Scott. We've got to pass on our information. But how do we do it without exposing Dad and Virg? And then there's Parker..." There was still a note of confusion in Alan's voice as he recalled the man's inexplicable actions.

"We'll have to let the police think he was taken along with the others," Grandma said. "We can't give him away. Not yet, anyway. He must have been was acting under duress. I can't believe he'd betray Penny willingly."

"He wouldn't," Scott insisted. "But he was part of this, Grandma. A big part. We need to start looking for him. If we find him, we find Penny. Al, how are the guys doing?"

There was silence for a while as Alan opened up a link with Thunderbird Two. "They've evacuated the two towns that were in immediate danger," he finally informed his brother. "They're needed further up the coast, though - looks like that fire's a bad one. What should I do? If I tell them what's happened they're going to want to come home. Not that I'm going to be able to keep it from them - the news is going to be out soon enough."

He'd already overheard several frantic conversations between the security forces. Of course Penny's big society wedding had been covered by all the top magazines, and several journalists were now champing at the bit to be first to break the story. MI5 seemed to be winning the battle so far: the small group was corralled at the side of the Abbey, phones and recording devices having been taken away from them, much to their annoyance. But they couldn't be kept quiet for ever - and even if they could, there were three hundred other people in the Abbey who might just as easily reveal what had happened. No, it seemed inevitable that very soon the news would be out and the whole world, not just Britain, would be watching in fascination. Poor Penny, Alan thought. Things never seemed to run smoothly for her.

"Some wedding, huh, Tin-Tin?" he whispered.

He started abruptly when Scott cut in and demanded he hurry up and patch him through to Thunderbird Two.

As Field Commander of International Rescue, Scott had grown used to giving bad news, but he'd never had to explain anything quite like this before, and after a few perfunctory greetings and updates on the rescue, a long silence built up as he tried to work out what to say.

"Scott? Everything okay?" Gordon asked.

"Well... Actually, guys, you'll never believe what's happened..."

"What? The bride's been spirited away by masked gunmen just as they were about to exchange the rings?" John's tone was weary. He'd just spent five weeks up in space and any kind of physical exertion took it out of him after a rotation, let alone the kind of punishment his body was enduring right now. International Rescue might have the very latest equipment and technology, but sometimes there was no substitute for a bit of brute force. There was a reason why he left this kind of thing to his brothers, he thought. Virgil now, he'd have lifted that woman out one-handed. Scott might have needed both hands, but he'd still have made light work of the task. John, however, well he was an intellectual, he just wasn't made for tasks like this.

But intellectual or not, he still wasn't expecting his brother to confirm his words.

"Yeah..." Scott sounded confused. "Well, more or less. How did you know?"

Then Alan cut across him, with real agitation:

"_John! _You didn't plan it did you? Some sort of scheme to get Scott and Penny together?"

Scott spluttered something indignant at this, but John was speechless. Partly because he couldn't believe such a thing had actually happened - although when he considered the many adventures his family and Penny had shared, he supposed he shouldn't really have been surprised - but mainly because not even he would stoop to those levels of deviousness, though he was quite touched that his youngest brother believed he might.

"Okay," he finally said. "Start again. I don't think I heard you right."

"Oh, you did," Scott told him. "Take a look. Alan, send the video feed through."

The reaction that followed was utterly predictable, Gordon, John and Brains responding first with incredulity, then with anger.

"Which hospital did they take Dad to?" John asked, turning to the computer console in Two's cockpit.

"Don't know," Alan told him. "Can you-"

John had already found the information. He couldn't help wishing he'd been the one up on Five that day. He didn't hold anything against Alan, but if he'd been there, he could have easily tracked the attackers via traffic and police cameras and been well on the way to directing the police to their location. Now the task would be impossible. They would just have to wait for the ransom demand and go from there. If they had the opportunity to get involved at all, of course. With a member of the royal family and the heads of both the Church of England and MI5 missing, every single member of the police and the secret services would be pulled in to find them. Surely the person who had planned this would have known that. It was a horribly risky thing to do - and yet it showed a certain amount of flair and daring, too. John couldn't help feeling a degree of admiration even amidst the anger and worry.

* * *

Virgil paced in irritation. Oblivious now to the beauty of the ancient building which had enthralled him from the moment he'd entered it just a few days ago, and not even able to get to the piano to bang out a few bars of something just to relieve the tension, he waited impatiently for the authorities to allow him to leave. He should be with his father now - or out searching for Penny. He wasn't used to waiting around like this. Would they never get round to questioning him so he could leave? That was the penalty of a possessing a surname in the lower reaches of the alphabet, he thought, not for the first time in his life. The guests had been questioned first in order of importance, then, once the great and the powerful had been allowed to leave, the rest were taken alphabetically. _At least they're not going by first names,_ Virgil thought to himself. He'd never been particularly fond of his name, least of all when someone - usually Alan - decided it would be a good idea to allow some activity like the unwrapping of Christmas presents to proceed in alphabetical order. He hadn't even gained any respite from the relentless attentions of the string quartet, although at least now they were reduced to a trio, an unhappy Isabel having been dealt with and sent on her way half an hour ago. The Sullivan sisters hadn't been able to hide their glee.

Normally a perfect gentleman, even with people he didn't much care for, Virgil had finally cracked, demanding that they leave him alone and stomping off. He'd missed the resulting argument between the three as they each blamed the others for pushing him away.

There had been a flurry of activity when Parker had turned out to be one of the victims, the chauffeur's disappearance missed in the initial drama of discovering that so many of the more important people present at the ceremony had been taken. It had come as a shock to Virgil, too, and he hated himself for not having noticed straight away. The man had been sitting next to his father, after all, but naturally Jeff had taken up all his attention. Virgil was consumed with guilt now, as well as worry. His friends were missing, his father rushed off to hospital - Virgil rarely begged, but on this occasion, he had pleaded to be allowed to accompany him, but the police had been insistent. No one would be leaving until they'd given an account of themselves. At least the questioning had been relatively brief - all anyone could say was that one moment they'd been sitting there quite happily, the next, they'd been picking themselves up off the floor, more often than not with a pounding headache and a strong degree of nausea.

Virgil wished he could get in touch with Scott, but there was no hope of that, not with so many police and members of the secret service prowling around. He knew it was only a matter of time until they found the cameras he'd set up. They were small and he'd placed them as unobtrusively as he could, but they weren't particularly well-hidden - they couldn't have been, not when he'd needed to give his grandmother as clear a view as possible. Not for the first time he wondered if he should alert someone in MI5 to the fact that the whole event had been recorded. But if so, who? Only a select few knew of Lady Penelope's links with International Rescue, and Virgil was reluctant to risk a security breach, especially when there were so many other people around who might overhear. He really needed to consult his brothers - would this wait ever be over?

"Virgil Tracy?"

_Finally_, he thought, rising from his pew and heading over to the man who'd called his name. Just ten minutes later, having given exactly the same version of events as every other guest - all the while hoping he wasn't giving anything away under the man's intense gaze - he was allowed to leave.

Feeling faintly ridiculous in his formal clothes, he made his way out onto the street, desperately searching for somewhere secluded in order to contact Base. But once again his hopes were dashed as a familiar and unwelcome voice called his name.

"Virgil? _Virgil!"_

Flora. Couldn't the girl take a hint? He hadn't exactly been subtle in the Abbey, after all, but then she had always been the most persistent of the four.

"I've been waiting for you," she said, catching him up and gripping his arm tightly to stop him getting away. "I've been worried about you."

"I'm fine," Virgil told her, doing his best to disengage himself, but the girl had the grip of a limpet and as soon as he managed to get her hand free, the other latched on to him.

"No you're not," she told him. "Anyone can see how worried you are. Your poor father. But it's going to be alright, you'll see. I'll take you to the hospital - look, here's my car - and I'll wait with you. I can't leave you on your own at a time like this."

"No, really," Virgil said, pulling away more forcefully now. "I'm fine, Flora. Honestly. Once I'm at the hospital I'll be in with Dad. I really don't need any company."

"But-"

"I'll call you!" Virgil said, deciding that under the circumstances he could be forgiven for the lie.

Flora's eyes gleamed for a moment as she considered this, but just as Virgil thought he was going to get away from her, she shook her head.

"I can't leave you alone," she insisted. "I mean, it's not just your father you have to worry about, is it? You're a friend of poor Lady Penelope. Who knows what's happening to her and the others right now. No, I wouldn't be able to rest if I thought you were dealing with all this by yourself."

Virgil almost groaned in frustration, especially when his watch began to vibrate. The knowledge that he was so close to finding out what had happened whilst they had all been unconscious was driving him crazy. Why couldn't Flora just leave him alone?

"Come on," Flora said encouragingly. "Poor Virgil, you're so tense. A little Bach as we drive along will soon make you feel better."

Virgil doubted anything could ease the frustration right now. Then, as he glanced desperately around, an idea came to him and he stopped trying to pull away from the girl.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks."

Flora gave him a beaming smile, squeezed his hand tightly for a moment then let go to fumble in her bag for her keys. "That's better," she said. "You'll- Virgil?"

Virgil had taken advantage of his moment of freedom to throw himself out into the road, straight into the path of an oncoming taxi. The car screamed to a halt, the driver yelling curses that would have made even WASP veteran Gordon blush, but Virgil ignored it all, yanking the door open and throwing himself in, waving a handful of notes at the suddenly silent man and demanding he head for the hospital where Jeff Tracy was being treated.

Furious, Flora stared after the cab as it disappeared around a corner. How dare he? She'd been nothing but caring and considerate from the moment she'd met him and this was how he repaid her! She'd thought he was so sweet - he was handsome and rich and a wonderful musician, but despite all that he hadn't seemed arrogant at all - but he'd certainly shown his true colours now. She remembered once again how he'd roughly pushed her off him when he'd woken up in the Abbey. She was sure she was going to have a bruise where her elbow had cracked against the floor. Isabel had witnessed it and had taken great delight in telling her that it proved Virgil had no interest in her, but she'd brushed it off with the observation that he'd just been worried about his father. She wasn't going to make excuses for him this time, though.

Humiliated and angry, she thought for a moment, then locked up her car and strode purposefully back towards the Abbey.

In the taxi, Virgil's relief at finally being free from Flora was short-lived. His watch continued to vibrate, but he still had no way of answering. He debated getting out, but he'd given the taxi driver all his cash and he could hardly ask for it back, not after practically giving the man a heart attack when he'd jumped out in front of him. If he left the cab now, he'd have to walk to the hospital, and who knew how long that would take. No, he was better off waiting it out, he reasoned.

He wondered what his family had witnessed whilst he'd been unconscious. He'd half-expected someone from MI5 to take him to one side at the Abbey and tell him all about it. Surely Alan would have sent them a recording of the transmission. Maybe they'd already tracked Penny and the others down and apprehended the people who had done this. The wait for news was sheer torment, and thanks to the ridiculously heavy London traffic that Saturday lunchtime, it didn't look as if it would be over any time soon. His only comfort was that he wasn't spending the time in the company of Flora.

It was over twenty minutes later when he flung himself out of the cab and took himself off to a secluded spot in the hospital grounds to put in a call to the others. Every so often the wail of a siren would half-deafen him, but he was finally able to learn the truth about what had happened.

When he heard what Parker had done the shock was so great that he nearly needed an ambulance himself!

* * *

Up on Thunderbird Five, whilst Virgil fretted in the back of his taxi, Alan had watched nervously as one of the policemen who had been poking around near the piano, came ever nearer to the hidden camera.

"Here we go, guys," he called as the man's face filled the screen, puzzlement all over his face as he realised what he was looking at. Then he turned away and yelled for assistance, announcing that he'd found a clue to the kidnappers.

"Shut it off!" John ordered, and the screen went blank. They could still witness events via the second camera Virgil had set up - this one up on a balcony and giving a view of the whole Abbey in order for Grandma to enjoy Penny's procession up the aisle as well as get a good look at the guests - and it was clear to see that the discovery had caused great excitement amongst the investigators.

"Well, it's no surprise," Scott said. "I don't suppose there's any reason Virg would have worn gloves when he set those things up?"

"I see where you're going, brother," John responded. "Those cameras are tiny, but there's a big enough surface for a partial fingerprint. Virgil might have some explaining to do. I'll hack into the ID files and change his prints. Better safe than sorry."

"Or you could contact MI5," Grandma suggested, always unhappy when her grandson was engaged in some dubious hacking activity. "Tell them he's got nothing to do with the kidnapping."

"Tell who?" John asked. "Grandma, the only people who know about our links with MI5 are Penny and Irving Ross, the head guy. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but both of them are who-knows-where. We can't say anything without risking a massive security breach."

"And we can't show them the footage without giving Parker away..." Alan swallowed nervously. "Do you really think they'll check out the guests?"

"They've got to start somewhere," Scott said. "Damn. Someone's got to get over there."

"We could fly back," Gordon said, a little hesitantly.

"No. You're needed there." Scott's mind raced through any and every possible course of action, but with Thunderbird One out of action there simply wasn't anything he could do. There was no way he was getting off the Atlantic island and once again he cursed his father's decision to buy it. He'd known it wouldn't be a lucky place...

He kicked out at a storeroom door. It swung open and he idly glanced inside. His eyes fell upon one particular piece of equipment and, with a cry of delight, he dived in and grabbed it.

Half an hour later he was stubbornly rejecting all the objections his family were putting his way.

"I know it's a risk, but it's the only chance we've got," he insisted, strapping on the jet pack.

"Brains, will you tell him?" Grandma said yet again.

"W-well, Mrs T-Tracy, th-theoretically it should w-work..." Brains didn't sound entirely convinced.

"'Theoretically' is all very well!" Grandma snapped. "But this is ridiculous. Scott, you can't fly eight hundred miles to London with a jet pack."

"Grandma, I've replaced the power pack with a nuclear charger," Scott said patiently. "I won't run out of fuel. I've got a good oxygen supply and a flight suit which will withstand the cold. It's not my preferred form of transport, I'll give you that, but what choice do we have?"

No one had an answer to that.

"I'll be fine," Scott insisted.

If he had his fingers crossed, he didn't admit it.


	6. Chapter 6

_As always, thanks to everyone who responded to the last chapter, especially Whirlgirl, who I can't reply to personally._

Chapter Six

Virgil closed his eyes, counted to ten, then, for at least the hundredth time, informed his father that there was no way he was going to be leaving the hospital any time soon. Jeff Tracy was a horrible patient, as the nursing staff had soon found out - they weren't to know, but it was clear where the man's sons had got their own stubborn natures from. The nurses had soon delegated the task of keeping him in his bed to Virgil, and the younger man was tired, fed-up and hungry. He'd been at the hospital for six hours now, and he wasn't sure what had been worse - the three hours he'd spent waiting for news on his father, or the three interminable hours which had passed since the man had properly woken up.

"Dad, you look terrible," he said. "You're obviously still feeling the effects of that gas. Why don't you try to sleep it off? Please... Give me a bit of peace?"

Jeff just grunted irritably. "Sleep? After what's happened today? Put the TV back on, Virgil, I want to see what's on the news."

"You know Alan would have told us if there was anything new," Virgil pointed out, though he did as his father asked, mainly because the best view of the screen came from the bed and it might keep the man in place for a while.

Sure enough there were no further developments. On the BBC, a reporter - unable to hide her expression of delight at this absolute gift of a story - stood outside Westminster Abbey, interviewing a couple of choirboys, whilst on another channel, a couple of experts gave their views on the event, speculating wildly as to why someone would have kidnapped the bride, the groom and a lowly chauffeur along with the high-ups of church, state and business.

Jeff wondered once again if he should pass on the information he possessed. Like his sons and his mother, he was utterly confused - he'd thought he might have been delirious when Virgil had first told him all about the attack. Even when he'd watched the footage he hadn't quite been able to believe it. If his head hadn't been aching before, it certainly was after that.

Parker...

The man wasn't under any suspicion right now He'd been listed as a victim along with the others and although one or two news channels had touched upon his criminal past, wondering why a woman like Lady Penelope would have employed him, no one thought for a minute that he'd been in any way involved. In fact, he was usually only mentioned as an afterthought, there being far more important and interesting personalities involved. No, Jeff thought, he couldn't give his friend away, not without knowing more. Just a few more hours. He owed Parker that much. If there was no news by morning, then he'd alert the authorities.

But that in itself was a problem. Irving Ross, the head of MI5, was his only contact apart from Penny, and he was one of those who'd been taken. Jeff had initially wondered if this whole thing was something to do with International Rescue, but then Virgil had pointed out that the Archbishop of Canterbury and the third in line to the throne had no links with their organisation. Nor did the random businessman who'd been taken in his place. Jeff had had to accept the truth of this. It made him feel a little better - mentally, at least. Physically, he still felt dreadful. In reality he'd like nothing more than to sleep it all off, but he refused to give in.

"Coffee?" he asked hopefully.

"The doctor said you should stick to water," Virgil reminded him. Then, to forestall the rant he knew he'd just triggered, he got to his feet. "I'll go and see if he's changed his mind."

"Call Alan while you're at it," Jeff instructed. "See if he's heard anything."

"He'd have told us if he had," Virgil said, but he agreed anyway - anything for a break from the small, overheated room. He didn't blame his father for wanting to get out.

Leaving the room, he asked a passing nurse to take over babysitting duty whilst he got a coffee for himself - heaven knew he needed it - and put in a call to Base. The woman was only partially appeased by the charming smile he offered her, visibly bracing herself for the ordeal of dealing with a grumpy and obstinate multi-billionaire who didn't like being told 'no'. She actually contemplated calling for assistance from one of the police guards who stood at the end of the corridor, but they were needed to protect all seven of the wedding guests who'd been brought in. Not from kidnappers, but from reporters. They'd been besieged for the past hour and a half since the news had broken and the press had discovered where the victims of the gas had been taken. One journalist had already disguised himself as a doctor in an attempt to get to the patients, and she was sure he wouldn't be the last.

Virgil got his coffee then made his way outside, making sure he was completely alone before contacting Alan.

"You okay?" his brother asked. "You look tired."

"Yeah. You know how Dad is when he's sick. I could do with reinforcements to be honest. How's Scott getting on with the repairs?"

"Ah..."

Virgil might have been tired, but the significance of Alan's shifty look wasn't lost on him. "Alan? What's going on?"

"Well... we didn't tell you earlier - didn't want to worry you, not when you had Dad to think about-"

_"_Alan? Stop rambling and tell me what's happened."

"Scott's flying in on a nuclear-powered jet pack."

"He's _what?_ That's suicide."

"No, really, he's doing fine. He's over two-thirds of the way there. Brains is quite impressed, actually. I hope it hasn't given him ideas - doesn't sound like the most fun Scott's ever had, but then the weather's not that brilliant."

"Terrific," Virgil glowered.

"What's wrong? I thought you'd be glad to have Scott on hand."

"I am. At least, I will be once he's actually here. But what am I supposed to tell Dad?"

"Yeah... Good luck."

Sure enough, Jeff Tracy didn't take the news well.

"Of all the stupid things to do! What was he thinking? I mean, I'd expect that sort of thing from Alan or Gordon. Even you. But _Scott_? He's supposed to be the sensible one."

"Thanks," Virgil said drily.

Jeff made to get up, then thought better of it as his head began to spin again. It was all too much and he sank back against the pillows.

"Turn that off!" he snapped, flipping his hand in the direction of the TV screen.

Virgil did as he asked, then sat back down, wearily massaging his temples.

Jeff was suddenly too tired to be angry. "Get some sleep, son," he said, his tone far gentler than it had been since he'd woken up.

Virgil looked up at him in surprise. "What?"

"Go back to the hotel. You look exhausted and you'll need to be on top form tomorrow."

"I will?"

Jeff smiled. "Well I'm sure once you and Scott get together you'll come up with some kind of crazy plan, and since Scott has already set the bar for insanity on this one, I hate to think what mess the pair of you will get yourselves into."

"You're assuming there's going to be something for us to do," Virgil reminded him, deciding to ignore the insult. He knew it wouldn't be an argument he had a hope of winning, anyway.

"There will be," Jeff assured him. "Those kidnappers will have to make their move soon. Otherwise what's the point of all this?"

"Guess so." Virgil didn't move though, so Jeff repeated his instruction.

"Virgil, go away."

"So you can make a run for it the moment I'm out of here?" Virgil shook his head. "Not happening, Dad."

Jeff rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Fine. I give you my word I won't move out of this bed until the doctor says I can. Okay?"

Virgil looked at his father in surprise. He could see both his hands, so there were no crossed fingers to worry about. Not that his father was likely to do something so underhand anyway. He didn't give his word lightly, and when he did, he meant what he said.

"Promise?" Virgil couldn't quite bring himself to walk away without making absolutely sure.

"I promise." Jeff's teeth might have been gritted and his expression might have been one of sheer frustration, but he clearly meant it.

Virgil got up, stretched and yawned. "Okay. It's been a long day. Guess I could use some sleep."

As he got to the door, he hesitated.

"What now?" Jeff asked. Truth be told, he could barely keep his eyes open himself.

"Just glad they didn't take you too," Virgil said softly. "I mean, you may be a cantankerous old ... Well, anyway, I suppose we'd miss you if you weren't around."

"Why you..." Jeff tried to look affronted but couldn't help laughing. "I'm not going anywhere, Virgil. Leave you boys to run things by yourselves? I don't think so."

Virgil laughed too, then left the room - returning two minutes later to raid his father's wallet for the cab fare. Jeff had already fallen asleep and Virgil watched him for a long moment, wondering what he would have done if the gas hadn't thwarted the kidnappers' original plans. It wasn't a pleasant thought and in some ways it was a relief to turn his thoughts to his oldest brother and best friend. Now that was something else to worry about...

* * *

If you'd asked him, Scott Tracy would have said that there was no such thing as a bad way to fly. He should know: he'd flown pretty much every type of craft, from run-down single-engine crop sprayers right through to rockets, and he'd found something to appreciate in each and every one of them. But right now, fighting against the wind and rain and propelling himself at a much lower altitude than he was truly comfortable with (he was actually feeling seasick at the moment, ten metres or so above the roiling waves) he couldn't help wishing they'd thought to stick a boat on the new base. No forward planning, he mused. But then, who would ever have thought that he'd be in this situation in the first place?

Just another hundred miles to go, he told himself. He'd soon be back over land. He'd have to gain height to avoid being spotted, but with darkness beginning to fall, his chances of reaching London undetected seemed increasingly good. What he was actually going to do once he reached the city he wasn't quite sure. The hospital, he supposed. Alan was keeping him updated on their father's condition and whilst it was improving, the man still wasn't fit to be discharged. What was going to come of that, he didn't know, but at least his dad and Virgil were safe. As for Penny and the others, well, he could only hope.

Then Alan came in with an urgent demand for him to change course.

"I've located Parker!"

"Where? How?"

"Some pub in the East End - the Dog and Duck. I was monitoring all transmissions and Five picked up his voice pattern in a phone call. Apparently he's throwing a party..."

"He's _what?"_

"Makes no sense to me, either," Alan admitted. "There's been no mention of Penny or the others. Maybe they're all there. You need to go and see what's going on. I'd ask Virg but he looked exhausted when I spoke to him a while ago."

Scott agreed this was the best course of action. "But what if Parker's gone by the time I get there? Maybe he's just establishing some kind of alibi."

"Bit late for that," Alan pointed out. "He really does seem to be celebrating, Scott - though _what _exactly is debatable. He's made at least ten calls to friends of his. I checked them out - a whole load of ex-cons well as a few members of his family, which probably explains why nobody's called the police. I really think he's set for the night."

"Okay. Send me the coordinates - and find me somewhere to land."

* * *

As Scott finally reached the British coastline, a small van branded with the logo of a popular supermarket chain pulled to a halt outside a run-down farmhouse in the Kent countryside. A man was waiting for them and instructions were quickly given. Moments later the van doors were pulled open, but instead of groceries, six unconscious figures were taken out. The gas had long since worn off, but they'd been injected twice with anaesthetic during the various changeovers of vehicle which had ensured they wouldn't be tracked to their final destination. It took less than ten minutes for the group to be carried downstairs to the rooms which were to be their home for the next few days. Some would be released unharmed. Others however... well, they probably wouldn't be quite so lucky. The man who had watched without making any effort to help had a very particular agenda. He knew everyone, including the men he'd employed to carry out the attack, would assume it was all about money and he couldn't help laughing at the thought. If only they knew the truth! Well, they soon would - or at least some of it...

But this wasn't just his operation. He wasn't sure what his partners had in mind for their captives - and if he was honest, he didn't really think he wanted to know.


	7. Chapter 7

_I'm sorry this is a bit late - this past week has been a bit of a nightmare. Thanks to Loopstagirl for looking over this for me - it's been hard enough to form a coherent sentence some days, let alone put a chapter together!_

Chapter Seven

The man who spent so long planning every last detail of this operation had witnessed the attack via the cameras attached to his men's overalls. He'd chuckled gleefully as he'd watched - until the decision was made to leave Jeff Tracy behind. At that point he'd sworn colourfully for a good few minutes, slamming his hand down hard on his thigh - instantly regretting it and the bruise he'd been left with - knowing he'd be in for it once the others found out. Of course, the switch hadn't been his fault. He'd make sure Quinn answered for it - although he'd hate to lose his able assistant.

Sure enough, once he'd been forced to admit to only partial success, he'd found himself on the receiving end of a lengthy and vitriolic tirade. It had been a relief to end the call with the excuse that the captives would be arriving at any moment. Activating the set of jamming devices he'd had put in just in case the infamous Lady Penelope or the head of MI5 should have any secret transmitters hidden on them - the various vehicles the six captives had been transported in had been similarly equipped - he relaxed, knowing he was safe from any further fallout - for a while at least.

Once his unconscious guests had been laid unceremoniously on the floor of the room where they'd be kept for the next few days he sent his men upstairs, turning to the one who remained and shaking his head, tutting theatrically as he did so.

"They were none too happy to learn about the substitution, Quinn," he said.

"No choice," Quinn retorted. "Unless you wanted a corpse on your hands."

"It wouldn't have come to that," came the answer. "Tracy's okay - I've been watching the news. He's in the hospital, but not in any danger, apparently. None of the sick ones are, it seems."

"Well then. Success all round. They'll still get their money - this one's worth millions too. You didn't want to risk anyone being permanently damaged, did you?"

"It's the damage to us I'm most concerned about," the first man replied. "These people don't take failure lightly. They wanted Tracy. Although his son would have done just as well, it seems."

"You didn't tell me that."

"I didn't know it myself!" He shrugged. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that I'm not getting the whole story. Heaven knows what they want with their people." He waved a hand in the direction of several of the captives.

"If they're that set on Tracy I could hit the hospital," Quinn said thoughtfully. "For a price..."

The first man considered this for a moment then shook his head. "With police guards? Not to mention the press swarming round the place? Too risky. No, we'll stick with what we've got and see what they say later."

"So what now?"

"How long does the antidote take to work? Twenty minutes?"

"About that."

"Time enough for me to get ready." The man's eyes were suddenly glittering with anticipation. He clapped Quinn on the back. "Off you go then; bring them round."

As Quinn did as he was told, the other man watched. When all the injections had been administered, he smiled, pulling his accomplice out of the room and taking one last appreciative look at his handiwork.

"Showtime," he murmured before closing the door, leaving Quinn to ensure that all five locks and bolts were engaged.

By the time the kidnap victims began to stir, he'd finished his preparations and had settled himself comfortably in an armchair pulled up to a large TV screen. The camera feed from the room where the captives were held was working perfectly. One way, of course. He could see and hear everything the group did - they'd be monitored throughout their stay with him. It should be entertaining, he thought, watching them do their best to find some means of escape. An impossible task, as they'd soon find out, though he didn't think that would stop some of them trying. They'd only be able to hear him, of course. A pity in some respects, he thought, glancing across at his reflection in the large mirror he'd asked Quinn to put up. Perfect, he thought. He was about to give the performance of his life, and for that, everything had to be right - the clothes, the voice, the words themselves... Of course, tonight he couldn't possibly fail to hold his audience's attention: _the ultimate in captive audiences _Quinn had called them. They'd certainly be hanging on his every word, poor things, desperate to find out if they would live or die. Well, he couldn't answer that - he simply didn't know in some cases. But that didn't matter right now. What mattered was that he put on a good show.

He might be in line for enormous riches, not to mention power and influence beyond anything he'd ever imagined, but that was only of secondary importance. Tonight he was going to redeem himself for the humiliations of the past. Straightening his tie and pulling the handkerchief in his suit jacket up just a touch, ignoring the rolling of Quinn's eyes as he did so, he closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply, slipping into role and readying himself for what was to come.

Downstairs, in what had originally been a cellar, the kidnap victims began to stir. Like the rest of the wedding guests a few hours earlier, they didn't feel all that good for a while, but they were at least alert enough to take stock of their situation and to express their disbelief at the fact that, under the noses of MI5, they'd been spirited away to who-knew-where. Irving Ross, the head of MI5, kept his cool as he was berated by the man who had been taken in Jeff Tracy's place, doing his best to reassure him that they'd soon be found then suggesting that instead of complaining, he joined Simon and Prince Louis in looking around to see if there was any means of escape.

The Archbishop of Canterbury ignored them all, sitting in an armchair with his eyes closed, apparently deep in prayer. Nobody disturbed him, thinking they could probably do with all the help they could get right now.

As for Penny, well she couldn't help feeling more than a little ridiculous. In Westminster Abbey, gliding up the aisle, she'd felt perfectly at ease, the epitome of the English aristocrat entering into a fine marriage, the centre of attention, dressed as extravagantly as befitted the occasion.

Now though, the five metre long train she'd been so delighted with just got in the way. She'd considered tearing it off, but, despite the severity of the situation, she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. Not when the lace was practically antique, taken from the dress her own great-grandmother had worn over a century earlier. Anyway, she reasoned, even if she did manage to remove it, there was still the huge skirt to deal with - she barely had room to manoeuvre around the cramped room - and there wasn't a thing she could do about that. Those weren't her only concerns. The bones of the corset were beginning to dig into her, and, on top of everything else, she was cold. The room was chilly, that was for sure, the jacket Simon had placed around her shoulders failing to do much to alleviate her discomfort.

She hated wearing the wrong clothes for any occasion. Not even in the privacy of her own mansion would she allow herself to be any less than immaculately dressed. It had been ingrained in her ever since she was a child: the right clothes at the right time, every second of every day - and, if they were a designer label, then so much the better. The Chanel suit she'd bought to wear as a going away outfit would have been far more practical...

She shook herself - what was she thinking? Now really wasn't the time to worry about fashion. This was why she'd been right to get out of the espionage game - she simply wasn't up to it any more. She'd lost her focus, her nerve. In fact, right now, she was scared. Maybe she was in shock? She still couldn't quite believe this had happened. To spirit a bride away on her wedding day! It was unheard of - and Penny knew far more about this kind of thing than 99.9% of the wedding guests. It was something she'd never wanted to experience again.

At least they'd had the courtesy to wait until after the ceremony, she thought. She just wished they'd left Simon behind - he didn't deserve any of this. As she looked over at him, a wave of affection swept over her. It came as something of a surprise and suddenly, although she couldn't help feeling just a little guilty, she was actually glad he was there. Not that she wanted him to be in danger, but there was something calm and comforting about his presence - from the moment he'd awoken his only concern had been for her - and she thought once more that she'd been right to choose him and turn her back on her old way of life.

It was a pity her old way of life hadn't finished with her...

She wondered what was happening at the Abbey. Presumably the guests would have been allowed home by now. She had no idea of the time: there were no windows in the room - electric lights gave the only illumination - and no clocks either. All watches, phones and other devices had been taken away from them - but she guessed from the fact that she was feeling half-starved, that it must be late evening. She'd had no breakfast, not wanting anything to spoil the line of her dress, and she'd been looking forward to the wedding feast. She'd hated the thought of cutting the cake - not only was it horrifically calorie-laden, but it was a work of art in itself and even Virgil had admitted that he'd rather draw it than eat it, something unheard of for the cake-loving Tracy - but right now she'd happily gorge herself on it. She just hoped her captors decided to feed them.

All she could do right now was sit - well, perch somewhat precariously - on one of the chairs and wait to see if any of the others found anything of importance. She didn't think much of their chances, if she was honest - this was clearly a well-planned operation and their captors were undoubtedly far too clever to leave any clues, or anything which might aid in an escape attempt. Sure enough, judging by the ever-more frequents grunts of exasperation from the men, it appeared their search continued to be fruitless.

She'd expected the bad-tempered businessman, a friend of Simon's family and not someone she'd particularly liked on the brief occasions she'd spent in his company, to be the first to admit defeat, so it was a surprise when Irving Ross came to sit beside her.

"I'm guessing this isn't quite how you expected your wedding to go?" he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

Penny smiled ruefully. "I suppose I should have known things wouldn't go according to plan. After all, I do seem to attract trouble. But I really thought I'd left all that behind me."

"I take it you never got around to telling Lord Simon about your activities?"

"No. I wish I had." Then all Penny's fears came rushing out. "Irving, what if this is a plot to get to me? I could have put Simon in danger. I should have told him. He had the right to know what he was getting into when he married me."

"Perhaps," Irving agreed. "Though it's a little late to be thinking that way now, don't you think? Penny, if this was all to do with you - or with MI5 for that matter - then why take the Archbishop and a Prince? Or Mantle, for that matter? I mean, no disrespect to the man - he's rich, I know - but he's hardly a renowned figure of the establishment. They could have taken the Home Secretary, or the Chancellor, but they left them behind. Unless there are more of us hidden somewhere, of course... No, there's a lot more to this. I just hope our hosts don't keep us in suspense for too long."

Penny nodded. "I suppose you're right. I just wish they'd left Simon behind."

Irving was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, it was in an even softer tone.

"Some of our other friends were at the ceremony, I noticed. I was looking forward to speaking to them later."

Penny managed a smile. "Yes. You know, they'll be involved in the search for us too. There'll be no stopping them."

"Indeed. Between them and my lot we've got the best possible chance of getting out of this." He rose to his feet. "Cheer up, Penny. This will soon be over and you can get started on your honeymoon."

Penny was about to reply when a sudden crackle of static made everyone jump.

"Good evening," a slow, rich voice said, every vowel and consonant perfectly enunciated. "Perhaps you would all be so kind as to take a seat at the table. I have a few things to say to you, so why not make yourselves comfortable."

"I've heard that voice before," Irving said, irritation clear on his features as he strove to remember where and when.

"Indeed you have," the voice told him. "Now hurry up, everyone. Just as soon as you're all seated - yes, I'm afraid you are being watched, though I'm sure you already anticipated that - I'll begin."

It took a minute for everyone to settle themselves around the table. Simon reached for Penny's hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

Then the voice spoke again.

"All comfortable? Excellent. Now then, my name is Sebastian Swayne." There followed what the man clearly intended to be a dramatic pause.

There was a mixed reaction to this announcement. Irving's expression morphed from one of thankfulness that he'd finally been able to put a name to the voice he'd recognised, to one of utter bewilderment. The Archbishop and Penny wore the same expression, although Simon, Prince Louis and Ken Mantle were clearly none the wiser. But one thing they were all united in thinking, although no one actually said anything, was that for the man to freely give his identity away meant that it was unlikely any of them would be left alive to relay that information to the authorities...

Sebastian Swayne continued before anyone could say anything.

"Firstly, allow me to apologise for the inconvenience. I know this is not the way any of you would prefer to be spending the evening. Especially the happy couple. However, I assure you that some of you will be returning to your normal lives as soon as possible. Just a momentary inconvenience, but -"

"This is outrageous!" Ken Mantle shouted, rising to his feet and bumping against the table so that a jug of water which had been placed there spilled all over it.

"Oh dear. You'll need to clear that up yourself, I'm afraid. No maid service in this residence. I'm sorry the surroundings are rather less luxurious than you're all used to. However, as I'm sure you can appreciate, security has to take priority over comfort right now."

"He's mad," Simon muttered to Penny. "Completely mad."

"Do you mind!" The voice sounded well and truly offended. "Completely _sane_, thank you very much. This is a very well-thought out plan. Been working on it for months now. I'm sure you'll agree I should be commended for my efforts. Such a distinguished group of guests... I take it you all know each other? Prince Louis - I'm really not worthy. Mr Irving, the much-respected head of MI5, for those of you who don't know. It's nice to meet you again, Sir. The Archbishop of Canterbury - such an honour, Your Grace, I do hope Sunday services won't be too badly affected by all of this. Lord Warrington-Farr and his beautiful bride. And... I'm sorry, Sir, I don't have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

Mantle blinked in utter bewilderment before exploding again.

"You don't know who I am? You _kidnapped_ me! Drugged me! You're going to fleece my family, my _company, _for millions and yet you don't know my name?"

"No need to shout, the microphones will pick up the faintest of noises, I assure you. I really must apologise most profusely to you, Sir. You, it seems, are a late substitution. My assistants were supposed to bring another gentleman along, but unfortunately he reacted rather badly to the knock-out gas. If you'd be so good as to give me your name I'm sure I'll be overwhelmed with admiration."

"Kenneth Mantle," the man spluttered.

There was a pause. The captives could almost hear the other man turning the name around in his mind.

"Mantle... Mantle... No, I'm so sorry, you'll have to enlighten me."

"Founder of Mantle Enterprises."

"Oh, how lovely... But I'm afraid I'm still none the wiser."

"Hotels, race courses and casinos!" Mantle snapped.

"Ah, a gambling man. Well, the odds are stacked in my favour right now, don't you think? Why don't you make yourselves comfortable and- I'm sorry, what was that Lady Penelope? Or is it Mrs Warrington-Farr? Please let me know what title you prefer. I may be a somewhat unorthodox host, but I do pride myself on my manners."

"I said: the odds may be in your favour right now, but that will soon change," Penny informed him. "You must realise people are looking for you. MI5 won't stop until they track you down."

The man laughed. "Oh, but where will they look? And what will they find? I'm sure I can divert attention away from myself in the unlikely event my involvement is suspected. And if I can't, well, I'll have good company in jail. Don't you think, Lady Penelope? Your chauffeur is such an entertaining gentleman. A little rough around the edges, perhaps, but none the less, a very good man to know."

"Parker?" Penny looked utterly lost.

"That's him! Oh, you look confused. Poor thing, it's been quite the day for you, hasn't it? Let me put you out of your misery. Take a look at the TV screen, if you will."

And so Penny watched as the man she trusted most in the world - more than Simon, Jeff, or even Scott Tracy - betrayed her.

"You see, my dear," the voice broke into the silence which followed, even Ken Mantle left speechless. "I really don't think I have much to fear from the likes of MI5. Now then, if you will all excuse me, I do have rather a lot on my plate at the moment. I'll leave you all in peace. I suggest you take full advantage of my hospitality - my men will bring you some food later - and I'll check in again with you all in the morning. So sorry about ruining your wedding night Lady Penelope, Lord Simon. Goodnight, everyone."

There was silence for a moment, then, to everyone's surprise, the Archbishop burst out laughing. "Oh dear," he chuckled, wiping a tear away from his eye. "So that's what we're dealing with?"

No one else seemed to find the situation remotely amusing. As Mantle and Prince Louis demanded to know more about their captor, Simon, despite his desire to learn more himself, turned his back on them and put a comforting arm around Penny. "Are you alright?" he asked. "Look, what Parker did... I know he's been with you for years, but you had to accept you were taking a risk employing a man like that. Perhaps he-"

Penny jumped to her feet, shaking Simon off angrily. "Don't say that! You don't know Parker. You don't know anything!"

"What do you mean?"

Penny stared at him for a moment, then sank down into her seat once again. "Nothing. I'm sorry. It's been a... distressing day. I don't know what I'm saying." She caught Irving Ross's eye and shook her head almost imperceptibly. This was all too much. Why should Parker have helped in her abduction? What had those people done to him? There was no way he'd do anything to hurt her. No amount of money would have convinced him to get involved, and surely he'd have told her the moment he'd had even the slightest hint of any plot against her. Something terrible must have happened for him to do what he'd done, and the prospect of any harm coming to the chauffeur terrified her.

Simon fell silent, but some of the other members of the kidnap party had no hesitation in condemning the betrayal of Lady Penelope by her hitherto faithful servant, even the Archbishop moved to make some distinctly un-Christian comments about the man. Penny didn't have the energy to argue, not after a tentative attempt to stop Ken Mantle when he was in mid-flow had resulted in an ever greater burst of invective, to the point where Simon, usually the most mild-mannered of men, had actually risen to his feet and told the man to shut up. Only the intervention of Prince Louis had prevented things getting out of hand. Mantle retreated to one of the beds in the corner of the room, turning his back on the others as he lay down, muttering that all this stress wasn't good for him, that he had a heart condition and the slightest agitation could be the end of him. No one had much sympathy, Simon murmuring that the man had a reputation for being something of a hypochondriac, taking full advantage of the premium private healthcare he enjoyed, his home apparently containing something akin to a full-scale hospital. Ridiculous, really, he commented, leaving Penny to wonder what he'd have made of the medical facilities on Tracy Island.

That led back to thoughts of Scott and the rest of the Tracys and she wondered whether they were making any progress in locating her. The thought comforted her - a welcome distraction from her agonising over Parker. John would be working his magic on his computer, searching for the tiniest of clues, whilst Scott would be pacing up and down and swearing vengeance. Then there was Virgil, who, if he'd managed to disentangle himself from his would-be girlfriends, would be trying to keep everyone calm, saving his energy for the moment he'd need to leap into action. Gordon, Alan, even Brains, they'd all be on the case.

Everything was going to be fine. International Rescue, ably led by Scott, would come and rescue her, just like they always did.

She had no way of knowing that right now, Scott was almost as much in need of saving as she was.


	8. Chapter 8

_I'm so sorry this chapter is late. My father's been in hospital so there hasn't been much time for writing. This is just a short one to keep things ticking over, but the next one will definitely move things on a bit more. Thanks as always to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I really do appreciate it._

Chapter Eight

The bad weather that Scott had cursed so emphatically during the flight across the sea started to work in his favour as he approached London. The wind hadn't abated and the rain had turned to sleet, meaning that few people were out on this January night. Those who were tended to be looking down at their feet, doing their best to avoid slipping on the treacherous patches of ice that covered the pavements. It meant Scott was able to get reasonably close to the area where Parker was to be found, gaining height and picking up speed to avoid being spotted as he soared across the city.

By the time he came in to land, the snow was falling more heavily. It wasn't settling - yet - but that was little comfort to Scott. He wasn't dressed for a winter's night in London, still wearing the light tropical island clothes he'd put on for what was supposed to be a quick trip in Thunderbird One. He still couldn't quite believe that just a matter of hours later not only was his 'bird out of action and hidden away in her hangar on the new base, but his father was in hospital, Penelope - and several others - had been kidnapped, and Parker, of all people, was implicated in some way. _What a day! _he thought as he reluctantly shrugged off his flight suit. It would have kept him warm enough, but unfortunately for him it was branded with the International Rescue logo and guaranteed to attract attention he really didn't need. He glanced around the deserted allotments before spotting some old tarpaulin, shoving the suit underneath it along with the jet pack. It wasn't likely that anyone would find it - it was hardly the time for gardening, and the awful weather was likely to keep at bay any random teenagers who might otherwise be looking for somewhere secluded to drink or smoke. He crossed his fingers and hoped that by morning he'd be able to retrieve his kit and that all this would be over.

_As if it's going to be that easy, _he grumbled to himself, rubbing his frozen arms as vigorously as he could as he hurried towards the coordinates Alan had given him.

The Dog and Duck turned out to be an unsavoury looking establishment down a dark and narrow alley. The sound of loud music made Scott wince, but it wasn't that which made him wish Parker had chosen somewhere else to make his reappearance. No, it was the group of men hovering outside the door, pint glasses and cigarettes in hand. One had a large dog of some indeterminate breed, but whatever it was, it wasn't friendly, baring its teeth and growling savagely as Scott approached.

"Shut up!" its owner instructed, but the dog took no notice and the man didn't seem too bothered about making it obey.

"Excuse me," Scott said as it became clear the men weren't going to move away from the door they'd been blocking. Instead they made a point of looking him up and down, one leaning over to mutter something in another man's ear. Scott couldn't hear what he said, but by the way the second man's eyes narrowed, he guessed it hadn't been anything particularly pleasant. Still, he stood his ground and forced himself to smile, though every muscle tensed as he wondered if he'd made a mistake in not insisting that Virgil joined him.

"You don't want to go in there, mate," one of the men told him.

Scott actually agreed with him, but he really didn't have a choice.

"There's a wine bar round the corner," another man said. "Might be more your sort of place."

No one moved away from the door and Scott considered his next move. He wasn't a small man by any means, but at least three of the men were bigger than him and that wasn't taking the dog into account - it was growling even more ferociously now. But it wasn't bravado which finally made him step right up to the largest of the men, it was the fact that he'd decided that if he didn't get moving soon he was going to freeze in place right where he stood.

"Look, guys, I'm dying out here," he said. "I'm guessing it's warm in there if nothing else. Do you mind?"

"Where's your coat?" the man asked, still not moving.

Scott thought quickly. "It's a bit embarrassing actually, guys," he said. "I met this girl, we got talking. I really thought I was on to a good thing. Next thing I know, she's run off with my jacket. She's got my wallet, my phone... I really need a place to shelter until I can get some help."

The men laughed. Scott put on his best _tourist in trouble_ look and to his relief, the men who had been blocking the door moved aside.

"Have fun," one said.

Scott pushed thankfully through the doors, taking a moment just to appreciate the warmth before taking stock of his surroundings.

The pub was busy. Even so, the arrival of a stranger was immediately noticed by the drinkers. Scott was reminded of the old westerns he and Virgil had been so fond of watching on Sunday afternoons back in their childhood days in Kansas. That moment when a stranger walked into a bar and the place fell silent as everyone turned to appraise him - usually followed by the bartender hurriedly removing anything breakable and the pianist closing the lid of his instrument before taking cover... Scott suddenly knew exactly how it felt. There wasn't a piano and the barmaid wasn't engaging in any potential damage limitation, but still, the hostility in the bar was palpable.

Once again adopting the helpless expression that had won over the men outside, Scott made his way over to the bar. He'd expected to have a hard job of forcing his way through the people who were crowded against it, but somewhat to his surprise, the way parted easily and he was soon leaning across the bar to speak to the barmaid.

But what to ask? He'd already ascertained that Parker wasn't there. Maybe he'd already left. Or maybe he was somewhere else in the building. A door to his left had the legend 'Function Room' above it and Scott could hear music from inside. A party perhaps? After all, that was supposed to be why Parker was there. Scott had initially wondered why no one had called the police - after all, according to Alan the kidnappings were now front page news and Parker was supposedly being held captive somewhere, not hanging out in seedy pubs throwing parties - but one look at the clientele of the Dog and Duck had told him that these probably weren't the kind of people who'd welcome any contact with the authorities. He was so used to seeing Parker as an ally that he'd forgotten where the man had come from.

But had he really gone back to his old ways?

He summoned up his most winning smile for the barmaid, hating himself for it, but knowing full well that his looks usually worked in his favour.

"Hi, honey," he drawled.

Sure enough, the girl smiled back. "What can I get you?" she asked.

"I could use a beer," Scott told her, then wished he'd remembered that the British definition of beer was somewhat different from the American as she presented him with a pint glass full of some dark liquid with half an inch of froth on top. Still, he wasn't going to argue.

He pulled out the small handful of cash he'd been able to pick up at the new base. The only reason there had been any there in the first place was because the family used it occasionally as a stopping off point for trips to see Penny or to visit the London headquarters of the family business and there was no point taking any money back to Tracy Island. There wasn't much, that was for sure, and he hoped he wouldn't need to bribe anyone to reveal Parker's whereabouts.

"Cheers," he smiled, raising his glass and taking a mouthful.

"Good?" the barmaid asked, the twinkle in her blue eyes suggesting that she already knew the answer to that question.

Scott forced himself to swallow and insisted that yes, the brew was good.

The girl laughed. "I didn't have you pegged as a beer drinker," she said.

"No?" Scott leaned in closer. "What did you think of me, then?"

"Honestly?"

"Sure. Go on."

"Well... I did wonder what kind of idiot came out on a night like this without a coat."

"Ah."

"Although I suppose it's the only reason you'd want to come into a place like this. Not that I'm complaining. A good-looking bloke is always welcome. But you're a bit out of place here, you know."

"Guess so." Scott smiled ruefully and repeated his story of being taken advantage of by a girl. "This town sure is crazy," he said. "I mean, look at what happened in Westminster Abbey today. All those kidnappings. Princes and Archbishops..." He'd decided it would be only natural to make some comment on the story which had been all over the news for the past few hours.

Watching her reaction carefully, he was disappointed when she simply agreed that it was, indeed, crazy.

"What do you think happened?" he asked. "Terrorists maybe?"

"Could be. I suppose we'll find out when they ask for a ransom." The girl turned away, leaving Scott to his drink.

_Now what? _Scott wondered. He glanced across at the door to the other room and decided it was worth trying to sneak in. But as he approached, a pair of large men swiftly positioned themselves in front of it.

"Private party, mate," one said. He didn't sound like he was in a party mood. He didn't look like it either as he cracked his knuckles and eyeballed Scott.

"Right. Sorry. I was looking for the men's room."

"That way."

"Thanks. Say, whose party? Sounds like they're having fun."

He didn't get an answer, not that he'd expected one. But the extra few seconds the question had bought him had paid off. The music inside faded and just before the next song started up, the unmistakeable sounds of Parker's voice floated out to him. The tortured strains of "H'I'm Getting Married H'In the Morning" would have agonised Virgil, but Scott didn't think he'd ever heard anything so wonderful.

He'd found Parker.

Now he just had to actually get to him.

Realising that there was no way past the two bouncers, he made a show of looking at his watch. "Guess my ride will be here any minute," he said. "Thanks for the hospitality, guys. I'll be sure to recommend this place to my friends."

Then, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the cold, he headed for the door.

Smiling at the men outside, he made his way quickly to the corner of the street. A small alley ran down behind the pub and, after a swift glance around to ensure no one was watching, he slipped down it, pausing only to activate his watch and report in to Alan.

"Parker's in there alright," he announced. "I'm going to see if there's a back entrance."

Sure enough there was. And it was unguarded.

"I'm going in," he whispered to his brother.

"Be careful, Scott," came the answer.

"Al, I'm always-"

The force of two large men tackling him to the ground took his breath away. All he could do was groan, hoping that it would be enough for Alan to realise what was going on. To his credit, his brother didn't say anything, clearly realising that alerting Scott's attackers to the fact that his watch did more than simply tell the time wasn't going to help anyone. That was about all Scott had to be thankful for, though - by the time he'd got his breath back, he'd been bound, gagged and dragged roughly down some stone steps into what appeared to be the beer cellar.

"You can stay there for now," one of his captors told him. He turned to the other man. "I'll keep an eye on 'im. You go and tell old Nosey to get down 'ere."

It took a moment for Scott to register Parker's nickname. Then he wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or not. If Parker vouched for him then he'd be released, bruised, battered and utterly embarrassed - how could he have let himself get caught like this? - but unharmed. But if Parker really had gone over to the dark side, then who knew what his reaction would be?

He could only hope that Alan was doing something to get him out of there.


End file.
